Misery’s Curiosity
The tension between Eryon and Misery had been building steadily, each interaction laced with unspoken truths and careful deceptions. Misery’s sharp intuition made her impossible to fool, and Eryon found himself increasingly wary of her penetrating gaze and unnerving attention. She wasn’t just dangerous because of her power—she was dangerous because she made him doubt his every move.
One evening, as the academy settled into its usual eerie quiet, Misery cornered him in the courtyard. The moon hung low, its silver light illuminating the pale stone and casting long, shifting shadows. Misery stepped out from the darkness, her crimson eyes catching the moonlight and glowing faintly. The ethereal effect made her look otherworldly, almost regal in her predatory grace.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice deceptively light but edged with curiosity.
Eryon tensed, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “Just focused,” he replied, his tone casual, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Misery smirked, a flicker of amusement dancing across her face as she stepped closer. “Focused? Or hiding something?”
His wolf stirred uneasily, but Eryon held his composure, refusing to let her see his discomfort. “What would I have to hide?” he asked, meeting her gaze with calm defiance.
Misery tilted her head slightly, studying him like a puzzle she was determined to solve. “You’re not the only one acting strange,” she said after a moment, her tone shifting to something quieter but no less probing. “Adrian’s been sniffing around Lyra like a bloodhound. Should I be worried?”
Eryon’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he forced his tone to remain measured. “Lyra can take care of herself,” he said, the words clipped but steady.
Misery’s smile faded slightly, and for the first time, her expression softened, revealing something more serious. “Can she?” she asked, her voice dropping. “Because it looks to me like you’re the one holding everything together.”
The words struck a nerve. Eryon struggled to keep his calm exterior, the weight of her observation pressing down on him. Misery had a way of cutting through his defenses, of seeing truths he didn’t want to admit, even to himself.
“You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who’s supposed to be on my side,” he said finally, his voice laced with irritation.
Misery’s smirk returned, but it didn’t hold the same edge. There was something softer there, a flicker of vulnerability hidden beneath her teasing tone. “I’m always on my side, darling,” she said, stepping back slightly, her gaze still locked on him. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you survive.”
Eryon didn’t respond, his wolf pacing restlessly in the back of his mind. Misery lingered for a moment longer, her piercing gaze seeming to assess him one last time before she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone.
As he watched her go, Eryon couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at his gut. Misery was far more dangerous than he had initially realized. Not because of her strength or her cunning, but because of the way she slipped past his walls, forcing him to confront questions he wasn’t ready to answer. She didn’t just see through his lies—she made him question his own truths. And that, more than anything, left him vulnerable.
